


Hope

by a_windsor



Series: Thing!verse [1]
Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/F, Thing!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_windsor/pseuds/a_windsor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s been fifty-two eventful days since Christmas Eve, which makes today Valentine’s Day, and gives them quite a dilemma.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

> This is AU. Everything else happened except that Callie did not sleep with Mark. Relatively baby free. Written for the Valentine’s Day Challenge at the Callie_Arizona lj comm a long time ago for the “Romantic” category. Beta’d by the wonderful  **roughian**. Moving them over to ao3 now.

It’s been fifty-two days since she arrived on a plane from Malawi, on Christmas Eve, hoarse, broken, and begging, only to be greeted with a door to the face. A door to the face, because the fact that Arizona had been miserable and crying every day for their entire time apart was news to Callie, left devastated and alone in an airport with an (ex-)girlfriend thousands of miles away in strict, self-imposed radio silence.

It’s been fifty-one days (technically) since Callie opened her door and found Arizona fresh and showered but still jet-lagged and drifting off intermittently, propped up outside Mark’s apartment door. Thankfully Mark, in his Lexie bliss, was nowhere in sight, and this time Callie listened, angry but biting her tongue, as Arizona launched into a calm, measured, just-so-slightly teary-eyed apology and declaration of love. Which Callie flatly rejected.

It’s been fifty days since Callie yelled, really yelled, after feeling Arizona’s sad little puppy dog eyes on her all day. And Arizona took it, like the good man in the storm that she once promised Carlos Torres she was. She took it because Callie’s anger was justified.

It’s been forty-nine days since Arizona decided it was her turn to vent, to lay it all out on the table about everything: her frustrations with Callie’s passive-aggressive whining, her fears about Mark and about Callie’s too-big heart, and her own terror and anger with herself at the realization that she needed her Calliope, and she’d never needed anyone else before.

It’s been forty-eight days since they passed the entire day without speaking, stewing in all the revelations and casting longing looks at each other that everyone but the women themselves noticed.

It’s been forty-seven days since Arizona, in those dark blue scrubs Callie adored against her pale skin, pink scrub cap in hand, at the end of a long, monotonous surgery in which she’d had yet another revelation, cornered Callie in the empty attendings lounge and said, simply:

_“I’m still mad; you’re still mad. But we’re also still in love, Calliope, and I’m never going to stop being in love with you. So we can just keep being mad and miserable apart, or we can be mad and hopefully not miserable together. Because maybe neither of us deserves a second chance to reclaim our future, but I want that future so badly, and we’re the only things that stand in our way.”_

It’s been forty-four days since Callie and Arizona chose ‘hopefully not miserable together’.

Forty-four days since Callie and Arizona chose hope.

Forty-two days since they woke up tangled and sated in Arizona’s hotel bed. Forty days since they bought out their tenant. Thirty-five days since they re-christened every part of _their_ apartment. Thirty-three days since Callie admitted that she needed Mark in her life, that he was the only one who never walked away, but that the terms of that friendship were negotiable. She wouldn’t choose between the two, but she would find a balance that would put Arizona first and make her comfortable.

It’s been fifty-two eventful days since Christmas Eve, which makes today Valentine’s Day, and gives them quite a dilemma. Do they celebrate like a couple passing their second Valentine’s together? Do they fully embrace their new start and celebrate like a couple that’s only been seeing each other for forty-four days?

Things are good, but sometimes tenuous between them, and Callie is on edge because Arizona’s first regularly scheduled trip to Malawi to check in is due at the end of the following week.

So, Arizona wants to do the big gesture, the reassurance, but she just doesn’t know what.

A ticket to Malawi is out of the question. For one, the idea of the two of them in Sea-Tac again so soon, boarding passes to Malawi in hand, just turns her stomach. They’re certainly not ready to return to the scene of the crime.

Furthermore, she had previously underestimated the extent of the homophobia in Malawi, and she doesn’t think a trip to a country where they had to hide their love was the most romantic of Valentine’s presents.

Plus, Callie has so far been relatively sheltered from the world’s intolerance. Parents who came around relatively quickly were not the same as complete strangers who spat on you and a government that threatened to imprison you for being who you are. Maybe it’s naïve and almost selfish, but Arizona wants to shield Callie from that as much as possible. It’s the one aspect of the pink bubble that she wants to keep in place.

So plane tickets are a no go.

But she’s not sure what else that leaves. Jewelry’s done, flowers are an excellent _addition_ to any plan, but not a plan in and of themselves. She’d cook a nice dinner, but, well, she thinks Callie and the rest of the building’s residents would prefer to _not_ have another visit from the fire department. (It was just a small grease fire; the fire alarm is just overly sensitive.)

So what gesture can she make that says “I’m so happy we’re back together; let’s stay together forever” that doesn’t involve a pretty diamond and bended knee? Because as much as she wants to marry Callie, she’s (they’re) not quite ready for that, and when she does marry her, she wants it to be real, acknowledged everywhere.

So now it’s six hours until the end of Callie’s shift, and barring any roofs caving in on beloved Italian restaurants, they’ll be going to dinner. She really should make sure Callie’s reservations _aren’t_ for Italian...

***

At the hospital, Callie has also been pre-occupied with the holiday between knee replacements and open fracture settings. She, however, has been stressing over making sure their date is the anti-gesture. Just a quiet night with romantic lighting, good food and pricey wine, and absolutely no distractions.

No Mark and his own Valentine’s Day stress (“No, Mark, do _not_ propose to her. Please.”) and no Teddy marrying a patient drama. No bloodthirsty residents angling to be named Chief Resident. No wary or intrigued looks from hospital staff anticipating their next explosive break-up. Just Arizona, a little tipsy, cheeks flushed with wine and eyes sparkling, unburdened and giving her that dimpled smile she dreams of.

A simple, perfect night for Arizona to remember in Africa, to give her incentive to come home. A perfect, simple night for Callie to guard forever in her heart if Arizona doesn’t come home.

She knows she shouldn’t think that way, but the tiniest part of her heart screams for her to keep that slightest distance. And the impending trip to Africa is doing nothing to ease her nerves. She thinks maybe if putting Arizona on a plane to Malawi every two months is the price of having her back, that price is too steep.

No, that’s too melodramatic. Really, any price is just fine if it means Arizona is still in her life. She tried the whole living without her thing; maybe she could’ve eventually gotten used to it, moved on, but she really doesn’t want to find out if she can survive without Arizona. She just... wants everything to be okay again. She wants to trust that Arizona is coming back from Africa, or even, at her weakest moments of fear, from the hospital at night. She wants to take back her temper tantrums in the weeks leading up to that fateful airport disaster, to have handled the whole situation better.

But then where would they be? Miserable in Malawi?

Callie checks her watch for the millionth time. Four hours until dinner.

***

“Hey.”

Callie looks over her bare shoulder and sees Arizona entering the attendings lounge, winter coat still in place.

“Hey,” she smiles, her heart feeling lighter just being in her presence again. “Oh! Close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?” Arizona raises an eyebrow. “Calliope, I’ve seen everything. _A lot_.”

Callie flushes happily just thinking about _that_ , but she quickly regains her focus, slipping off her scrub pants as well.

“No, I don’t want you to see me until you get the full effect. You look _great_ , by the way.”

Arizona’s eyes linger warmly on Callie’s half-naked form as she gives a distracted, “Thanks.”

“I’m serious, though. Close your eyes or go wait somewhere else, or something.”

“Okay, okay,” Arizona grins, dropping onto the couch and very dramatically raising her hands to her face. “Sorry. Hey, we’re not getting Italian tonight, are we?”

“Oh no. Are you crazy? I’m not tempting fate. No peeking.”

“I’m not peeking!”

“Uh huh.”

“You are not wearing any clothes; it is taking _all_ of my self-restraint not to peek.”

“I have clothes on, but you still can’t peek. You can stop imagining me naked, though.”

“Don’t take away my fun!”

“I promise you won’t have to imagine by the end of the night,” Callie says sweetly, shimmying into her dress and then setting about fixing her make-up. She can’t help the wide, easy smile that spreads across her face. Slowly but surely, their natural banter is returning. She quickly applies her make-up and tries to somewhat control her mess of newly shortened curls.

“Can I look now?” Arizona whines.

“Yes,” Callie laughs, blushing just the littlest bit, which feels a little silly. Arizona has expressed _multiple times_ her adoration of how Callie looks in raggedy sweats and yesterday’s mascara, but Callie still wants to look special tonight.

“Wow.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. Have I mentioned you look _really pretty_ with your hair short?”

“Once or twice,” Callie teases, referencing Arizona’s fixation with the shorter locks.

“Not that you...”

“Didn’t look pretty before, I know,” Callie smiles warmly, pulling on her coat. “Are you ready to go?”

Arizona narrows her eyes, scrutinizing, before crossing to her. One hand comes up to tuck a dark curl behind Callie’s ear. Her serious expression quickly morphs into a warm smile and she pushes a soft, gentle kiss onto her lips.

“Now I am.”

Callie gets butterflies all over again, threading their fingers together.

***

Arizona has Callie’s favorite flowers waiting in the car, and Callie has Arizona’s favorite white wine chilling at the table when they arrive. Coats checked, Callie takes the time to fully appreciate the way the fabric of Arizona’s dress stretches perfectly across her hips and her heels accentuate her very, very, very nice legs. It’s Arizona’s turn to blush, just the faintest bit.

Dinner is wonderful (French fusion, to avoid the roof mojo of the previous year) and it all feels surprisingly normal and easy, like maybe the Carter-Madison grant never lead them to self-destruct their lives. Like maybe the last nearly two months never happened.

Except they did, and maybe, just maybe, they’re better for it. Now, after the dust has settled, they’ve found their way back to where they were before, except stronger, fifty-two days of grievances shouted and screamed and sobbed and, ultimately, resolved. Heard, acknowledged, accepted. Forgiven, but the lessons never forgotten.

After scrumptious dinner and decadent dessert, Arizona slides a small, flat, square box across the table, wrapped in silver paper and tied with an impeccable red bow. Callie assumes jewelry from the shape and size, and she expectantly tears at the pretty wrapping. But it’s not jewelry.

Inside the package, resting on top of a similarly sized silver box, are three laminated rectangles of paper no bigger than her palm.

“What’s this?”

“It’s the stubs of my return tickets.”

“What?”

“The boarding passes from when I flew back from Malawi. When I flew home, to you. And I’ll keep bringing them back to you, to put in that box, until I don’t have to go anymore. Because I’m always coming home to you, Calliope.”

“Arizona...”

“Sorry, is that cheesy?” Arizona asks, suddenly uneasy at how her gesture will be received.

“ _No_. I love it. I...” She runs her fingers over the slightly smudged letters of Arizona’s name and the LLW to JNB, JNB to ATL, ATL to SEA, of each ticket, preserved now under thin plastic. _Lilongwe to Johannesburg to Atlanta to Seattle_. Twenty-four hours of plane travel, not including layovers. A trip that Arizona, not so keen on the whole flying cage of steel concept to begin with, would be making every two months for the next two and a half years. To honor both of the important commitments in her life.

“Callie?”

“You kept your boarding passes?”

Arizona laughs a little, more like a sigh. “Tucked into one of my books. Sorry they’re a little runny... I kinda, sobbed, the whole way home. My book is sorta illegible.”

Callie remembers the hoarse voice and red eyes, cheeks flushed with all of the emotion of the past two months.

“Wow.”

“I’m trying to say that...”

“No, I get it. I...” She raises her eyes to meet Arizona’s expectant, nervous gaze. “I love you.”

Arizona visibly relaxes as she beams back: “I love you, too. I’m sorry the box isn’t all that special; it was kinda last minute inspiration. I can get you a nicer...”

“It’s perfect. Don’t change anything,” Callie demands, clutching the present protectively. The box is a simple little thing, intricate patterns etched into the lid, the curlicues resembling infinity signs.

“It’s from the mall, Callie.”

“I love it.”

Arizona rolls her eyes.

“Fine.”

“Want your present now?”

The blonde sits up eagerly.

“Sure.”

Callie fishes the tell-tale teal box from her purse and hands her the present.

“Okay, yours is from _Tiffany’s_. You’re so getting a better box.”

“Nope,” Callie stands firm, stealing said present off of the table and holding it defensively in her lap. “Don’t you dare.”

“Okay, okay,” Arizona concedes.

“Open your damn present, Arizona.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Arizona grins and follows orders. She slips the box open to reveal a beautiful silver watch staring back at her. The face is nice and big, like she likes, and within the larger face is a smaller one, set ten hours ahead of Seattle time. “This is Central Africa Time!”

“It is. So you always know what time it is where you’re not. Don’t want you calling me at four in the morning, or interrupting the clinic’s breakfast with phone calls about the budget,” Callie teases. Then more seriously: “And so you’re reminded that there’s a life going on here for you to come back to.”

“And I will, I promise. Every time.”

“I know,” Callie says firmly, surprising even herself with how much she believes it. “Does it fit? We can go to the jeweler tomorrow and get them to take out some links, since it’s probably too big for your tiny little wrist.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Arizona gives her a mock evil glare as she clicks the clasp shut. It _is_ too big of course, and Callie smirks triumphantly.

As they wait for the check and linger over the last two glasses of wine, they talk about everything and nothing, getting in a few gentle jokes about all of their over sharing and processing for the last fifty-two days. Suddenly, Arizona gets very serious.

“There is one issue we’ve been avoiding for past two months. Just one. Really, the only one.”

Callie looks confused.

“Kids.”

Alright, now Callie looks terrified.

“I meant what I said that day, Calliope. I want kids, with you. _Our_ kids. As many as you want. Maybe not ten, unless that’s what you really, really want. But I do want kids. Just, not yet. I want to enjoy just _us_ for a while longer, and you’re really getting somewhere with your cartilage research, and I’m still gonna have to fly back to Malawi a lot. But in a couple years? I really see us fighting over baby names and what color to paint the nursery. So, what I’m saying is, I’m all in on the baby thing, soon, but not now. As long as you’re still in?”

“I’m totally in.”

“Oh good,” Arizona sighs in relief. “‘Cause I’m getting kind of attached to the idea of our baby now.”

“Me too,” Callie beams at her.

“Okay.”

The waiter brings the check, and they’re in a great mood, so he gets a more than generous tip. He wishes them an effusive Happy Valentine’s Day and calls them a cab. They giggle and flirt and make out just a little on the way home, and marvel at their fresh start and comfortable intimacy all rolled into one.

Arizona tells more stories from the clinic, beyond the crying all the time, and Callie finally appreciates the great thing her girlfriend is doing. Fueled by wine and their new open and honest policy, Callie tells her as much.

Which is when the making out reaches levels that are probably not quite appropriate for the back of a cab.

Thankfully they’re just about home, so they get out before the driver gets far more of a show than they really want to give.

Even as Arizona fumbles with her keys at the door, the kisses they exchange are heated but languorous, a deliciously slow burn. They have all sorts of time, and they intend on using it. As they make it inside and Arizona slips her fingers through Callie’s curls, her too-loose watch dangles and clangs against Callie’s earring, eliciting a giggle from them both as they pull away to catch their breath.

“Hold on, I have to light the candles,” Arizona says, trying to wriggle out of Callie’s grasp to set up the romantic lighting she has waiting in their room.

“No,” Callie insists, hands sliding around Arizona’s hips, pulling her back in.

“But it’s _Valentine’s Day_.”

“The fire department is here enough, and I really don’t want to be on a first name basis with Seattle’s finest, Ladder No. 5, and watch while they flirt with that cute blonde in 502 that keeps setting things on fire.”

“Oh my god, it was once!”

Callie smiles into another kiss, backing Arizona towards their bedroom.

“Or, actually, twice, wasn’t it?”

“Pyro.”

“Being accident-prone is so not the same thing as being a pyromaniac. And they do not flirt with me!”

“They do. All the time,” Callie says, dropping her lips to Arizona’s neck and mumbling, “Can’t say I blame them.”

“Does it make you jealous?”

“Insanely,” Callie lies; she actually finds it adorable and harmless, and Arizona knows that.

Maneuvering them easily through the living room and into the bedroom, avoiding any head injuries or awkward bumping, Callie gets more serious, pausing to look deeply into Arizona’s eyes, forehead resting against hers.

“I love your candles and flowers and big speeches, Arizona, but I don’t need them. I just need you.”

“You’ve got me.”

***

el fin


End file.
